A Tortured You And I
by Nyxierose
Summary: In which Eponine mysteriously vanishes and Enjolras discovers exactly what he's willing to do to get back the woman he loves.
1. Prologue: Two Years Earlier

He knows damn well what he's getting into when he meets her and he knows it won't end pretty. His first night in the shitty apartment, the best he can afford on a political aide's salary, he hears screaming next door and doesn't bother to tune it out. It figures he'd have weird neighbors - heaven forbid he get any peace in this lifetime. He just isn't betting on things being as bad as they actually are.

The next morning - it's a Sunday - Enjolras decides he wants answers. It'd be nice to have an ally in the building, he supposes, and there has to be a reason he'd listened to a two-hour lovers' quarrel the night before. He never meant to get involved, but that was the kind of statement his road to hell was paved with. Good intentions? Try _no_ intentions.

He knocks on the door, is greeted with a whimper, and lets himself in because why the hell not. Nothing can prepare him for what he sees. A sparse apartment, even less furnished than his own (which is currently full of moving boxes and various knickknacks from Ikea that he can't be bothered to put together), and what little there is has been strewn around. In the center, a woman about his age, curled in the fetal position on a threadbare rug. She's pretty, he thinks, but definitely not okay. So much for this being quiet.

"Hey," he says, kneeling down next to her. He's oddly tempted to touch her, but he ignores the impulse because it would be weird and because, even in her current state, she looks like she could do some serious damage. "You okay?"

The woman rolls over and uncurls a bit as she takes in the sight in front of her. She could swear the man in front of her is an angel, blonde hair and blue eyes and perfection in a t-shirt and jeans. "No," she says softly. "But it's not your problem, whoever the fuck you are."

He's really not sure how to respond, but formalities never killed anyone. "Sorry. I should've introduced myself. My name's Enjolras, I just moved in next door, and last night I heard…"

"The grand finale of my ex-boyfriend," the girl interjects. "Lucky you. Nothing says 'welcome to the building' quite like an implosion." Despite the dark tone in her voice, there's a small smile on her face, almost as if she's enjoying herself. She shifts into a sitting position. "Nice to meet you. I'm Eponine." She sticks out her hand and he shakes it, both of them holding for a few moments longer than necessary. "Thanks, though. For coming 'round and making sure I'm okay. Nobody's ever done that before."

He looks away for a moment, not sure what to say to something like that, before turning back and returning her smile. The instinct to hold her is definitely still there, and it's starting to seem more likely than it should. "It's nothing. Just trying to be a decent human being."

She laughs and, on impulse, leans in and kisses his cheek. "You're nice, mystery boy. I like you."

And so it all begins.


	2. Missing

It's been exactly three hours since she last texted him - a new record, he thinks. He used to find her need for constant communication rather desperate and clingy, but he's gotten used to it, even learned to like it. Which is why three hours of cold silence is so odd. He figures there's some logical explanation for it - one of his favorite things about Eponine is that there is _always_ an explanation - but he can't help being a little worried. Completely reasonable or not, this kind of behavior isn't like her.

It's stranger still when he gets home - they live in a slightly better apartment in a slightly better neighborhood now - and she's not there. He's well aware that his girlfriend has a functioning life of her own, but it's rather odd for her to be out at a quarter to ten on a Wednesday night. Again, Enjolras tries to remind himself that there is probably a logical explanation for this. More likely than not, Cosette's had another minor crisis and Eponine's been dragged to the other side of the city to deal with it and she'll get home at two in the morning and barely let him touch her because she is that level of done with everything in the world. Been there, done that. He never thought he was going to hope for that scenario, but right now, he'd settle for it in a heartbeat.

After a few minutes of sitting on the couch and flipping through TV channels in search of an acceptable distraction, he calls her mobile. She doesn't answer. Well, now things are bad. He ultimately tries calling her four times in a row, and all four times he goes to voicemail and leaves a series of panicked messages. Something's wrong, he just knows it. This isn't _like_ her!

A few more minutes pass, and eventually Enjolras gives up and decides to call Cosette. Considering that he normally tries to stay the hell away from that woman - she's a good person, he knows, but she's on the border of being _too_ good and she's married to one of his friends from college and two minutes in a room with her is enough to make him want to blow his brains out - this is quite the step. Part of him hopes she'll ignore the call, but why would he ever be that fortunate?

Instead, she picks up on the second ring. "Enjy?" she says, using a nickname that no one else can get away with because no one else is that exact combination of adorable and terrifying. "What's going on?"

"Have you seen Eponine?" he asks, words coming out too fast and blending into one. "Or talked to her, or texted her, or anything?"

Cosette laughs - he can just picture her rolling her eyes in that way that she does when she's not even sure where to begin. "Not since this morning. I wanted to drag her to that new chick flick, but she said she had plans with you. Why do you ask?"

He takes a couple of deep breaths in a vain attempt to steady himself and is grateful that he had the sense to sit down _before_ making this phone call. "She hasn't texted me in three hours, she won't answer her phone, and she's not here."

"Which means she forgot to charge it or something. Everybody has their moments, yeah?"

"She wouldn't." He wishes he didn't have to say that, but he knows his girl too well. For reasons that are rarely hinted at, Eponine is the most cautious and defensive person Enjolras has ever known, and he knows damn well that she wouldn't make that kind of mistake. "What if something's happened to her?"

"Calm down, okay?" Famous last words, but Cosette isn't sure what else to say. "She'll be fine. You know her just as well as I do, and like I've been telling everyone since we were eight, Eponine Thénardier is bulletproof. Trust me, she'll get home late and explain what happened and then you two can go back to being too cute for your own good."

"And if she doesn't?" His voice shakes, and for the first time he accepts the idea as a genuine possibility.

"Then you call the police, moron. C'mon. For being one of the smartest people I've ever met, practicality just does not register with you very well."

"Fine. Thank you."

He hangs up before she can say anything else that won't help, practically throws his phone across the room, and curls up on the couch. Tomorrow morning, he tells himself. Twelve hours for Eponine to return back where she belongs, back to him, or he'll try to do something about her disappearance. He's not sure he can wait that long, but the least he can do is try.


	3. Acceptance

Needless to say, he doesn't sleep well that night. It's a miracle that his eyes even close at all, and the two or so hours he gets are spaced in about five-minute increments with quite a lot of contemplation between them. He should be more okay with being alone, he thinks, but he's gotten so used to falling asleep with his arms around her waist and her tangled brown hair over his eyes that it's near impossible to do otherwise. He supposes he could learn, but he doesn't want to have to.

At around six in the morning, he gives up altogether and decides that, if actual rest isn't an option, caffeine is the next best thing. Half a pot of coffee later, he calls his supervisor and explains there's been a family emergency and he could be gone for a few days. It's borderline bullshit and Enjolras normally keeps a strict honesty policy, but "I'm waiting for my girlfriend to turn up so I can figure out what happened to her and then probably have really good sex with her" doesn't have the same ring to it as "my mother's in the hospital and I'm an only child and this means I get to go up to rural Vermont and do damage control". Not that he says the latter statement either, but it's implied enough and (hopefully) believable.

Time passes. He doesn't let himself look at his phone or his laptop or even the TV, lest he see something that might bother him further. Instead, notepad and pen in hand, he starts listing theories:

_Option One: she actually did forget to charge her phone, she went out with a friend, things got out of hand, and she's sleeping it off at their place_.

Unlikely, Enjolras thinks. For one thing, Eponine doesn't really have friends. She has Cosette, yes, but that woman's not a friend so much as a decorative parasite as far as he's concerned. Otherwise, his girlfriend's social circle and his own are the exact same, and he can't see her going anywhere with any of the guys after what happened last time. Besides, they all see her as a little sister, and certainly one of _them_ would have contacted him if something had happened. So no, Option One is a fail.

_Option Two: someone got her_.

There's nothing else. He knows damn well that she wouldn't run off on her own like this, not without at least leaving a note. It's far too obvious that something darker has happened. Why anyone would go after her is beyond him, and he really hopes there's some other possibility he hasn't considered, but he can't shake the feeling that he's right.

After a little more contemplation, he calls the police. "Hello? I'd like to report a missing person…"


	4. Awakening

She wakes up on a mattress in a cheap motel - she can tell that much by the distinct odor and the fact that the decor is about thirty years out of style. Far be it from Eponine to judge people who don't have any taste, but there are certain colors that just shouldn't exist in the form of wallpaper or bedspreads. And… ugh, the bed frame has probably been eaten by termites or something. She can feel it shift as she rolls over, quite a feat considering she's what most people would politely refer to as 'petite'. At five foot two and a hundred pounds even, she doesn't take up a lot of space and looks five years younger than she actually is on a good day, closer to ten on a bad one. For something to not fully support her weight is an accomplishment, and it's not something she cares to think about.

This isn't the first time she's woken up in an unfamiliar place with no memory of how she got there, and though it's been a while since the last time, she still remembers the protocol she's always used. First, look around the room and see if there's anyone else in sight. She does so and sees no one, not even the traces of another human being. This is a good sign - if nothing else, the odds that she fucked anyone questionable are relatively small. Not entirely ruled out, but a tiny enough chance that explaining herself to her boyfriend won't be quite as disastrous as it could be.

Shit, _boyfriend_. She'd almost forgotten about him for a few moments, but the memory of her sweet blonde angel is enough to motivate her through the rest of her rituals. Step two - inspect oneself for any unfamiliar body modifications. This requires getting to her feet, a task that proves harder than expected. Eponine steadies herself with a hand against the nearest wall, finding her balance after a few moments and convincing herself that unfamiliar substances were certainly involved in her misadventure. Her other hand runs up and down her body, paying extra attention to her curves, and finds no unfamiliarities. So far, so good.

She pauses for a moment and tries to focus on the last thing she remembers. She was on the subway, she thinks - no, she'd gotten off the subway and was standing around outside the station, phone in hand and about to text Enjolras, when someone jumped her. She supposes her phone got knocked out of her hands, but that's the last thing she knows for sure. How she got from there to her current location, on the other hand, is a mystery she's not sure she wants to solve.

There's one tiny inconsistency - her clothing. While the outfit she's currently in is a typical getup for her, a black tank top and skinny jeans with standard undergarments underneath, it's not the one she was wearing last time she checked. Hell, last time she checked, she didn't own a shirt that had a rhinestone outline of the Batman logo on it. Apparently she does now, and at least it's her style. Again, it's probably better not to know.

Blessedly, there's a pair of flip flops on the floor, new-looking and hot pink. She slips into them and crosses the room, poking her head into the tiny bathroom for a moment in search of any revealing information and finding nothing except for a tiny bottle of hotel lotion that she slips into her pocket out of habit. As for actual details, so far there are none to be found.

It's tempting to stay in the room and dig around a little more, but Eponine's not dumb enough to take the risk of whomever brought her there coming back. Instead, she slips out the door without a second thought, carefully shutting it behind her and taking note of the room number. It's unlikely she'll need that info, but a girl can never be too careful. From there, she runs down the hallway, dignity be damned, heading towards the front desk.

The boy at the counter looks about eighteen, the same age as her brother. "How can I help you, miss?" he asks in the bored tone of a college kid working a summer job they don't actually want.

"Where am I?" she asks, hoping she doesn't sound as confused and panicked as she feels.

The boy rolls his eyes. "Sandusky, Ohio."

It's all Eponine can do to keep from face-palming. Of all the places she could've ended up by accident, middle-of-nowhere Ohio? She's not entirely sure where she is, even with a location name, but it can't be _that_ far from DC…


	5. Detective Javert

In hindsight, calling the police is not the best decision Enjolras has made in the last twelve hours. Trying to explain the situation over the phone was frustrating enough, but dealing with the detective they sent over for a more in-depth report is absolutely infuriating. Really, is it too much to ask for the guy to bug off and let him have some time for a proper panic? Apparently it is, but he's in no place to make any comments about that.

At least there are no credentials to question. Detective Javert is an established enough figure, an imposing middle-aged man superglued to a smartphone and who seems to possess no sense of personal space. Understandable, given the circumstances, but Enjolras isn't sure how poking around in the fridge is going to help the investigation. Out of habit, he follows the other man, keeping a close eye on everything because it's the first fucking diversion he's had since everything went to pieces and he'll take what he can get.

After the apartment is looked over, the interrogation begins. "When was the last time you saw Miss Thénardier?" the detective asks, eyebrows furrowed in cynicism.

"Yesterday morning," Enjolras replies. This is about the fifth time he's been asked this question, and he's starting to question the system even more than usual - which is not something that ought to be possible, but apparently it is. "And the last time I had any contact with her was last night at a quarter to seven."

"And she hasn't done anything of this nature before?"

"Randomly vanished for a couple of days?" He shakes his head, fighting the urge to give a death glare instead of an answer. "Never, and I've known her - we've been together - for two years."

"In that case, there's little we can do." Javert offers an expression of faux sympathy as he fishes around in his jacket pocket for a business card, which he hands to the younger man. "We'll put out the notifications, but women like her… if they go missing, they rarely turn up alive. My condolences in advance."

"Fuck you," Enjolras mutters under his breath. Well, so much for doing things nice and properly. He's going to have to take matters into his own hands, whatever that entails, and locate Eponine on his own. She's got to be out there somewhere - he knows his girl well enough to know that she could probably survive the zombie apocalypse and win without a scratch on her, thank you very much - but it's just a question of where. There's only one thing he knows for sure - he's not giving up without a fight.


	6. Adventures In Hitchhiking

Her first goal is to get as far from the motel as possible, preferably closer to home while she's at it but distance matters more than actual location. Thankfully, the place is right off the interstate - it figures it would be - and it's not the first time she's tried to hitchhike. Twenty minutes later, she's in a pick-up truck with a middle-aged woman and headed in the general direction of Toledo, wherever the hell _that_ is. For the most part, Eponine has a functional enough sense of direction, but when it comes to lesser cities in Ohio, let's just say she never thought she'd need to remember them.

It figures that the woman would get curious, and once she's established that she's been married for about a gazillion years and has three grown children and assorted grandchildren, the questions begin. "What's your story, hun?"

Eponine takes a deep breath, trying to decide where to begin. "I'm twenty-three" seems like a good starting point. "I'm from New Jersey by way of DC, and I'm trying to get back to my boyfriend, who is probably worried sick about me and doing god knows what in his desperation."

"Now, if you don't mind me asking, how'd you get out here in the first place?"

"I wish I could answer that question," she laughs, "But I have no idea."

The older woman - Lucy, she might've introduced herself as - gives Eponine a _look_. "You really don't know?"

"Nope, no idea. And I have no idea how I'm getting back either."

"Have you tried calling this boyfriend of yours?"

"No can do." Another nervous laugh - explaining her little trainwreck is harder than she expected, and there's no easy way out. "I know this sounds terrible, but I have no memory for phone numbers, so I'm kinda screwed."

"Got it. Well, I wish you luck. You're gonna need it."

Three hours later, when Eponine is dropped off at a gas station on the outskirts of a city she's barely heard of, she decides that hitchhiking home just isn't going to work. Time for Plan B… whatever _that_ ends up being…


	7. Little White Lies

She spends the night curled up in the women's bathroom of a twenty-four hour supermarket, resting in fitful bursts and waking the very second someone else enters. She's not dumb enough to expect to get away with this if the night manager finds her, and in the presence of others, she's just a random chick who needed to do some shopping at a ridiculous hour of the night. In all fairness, she _does_ lift a few things, an eyeshadow palate that fits nicely into the back pocket of her jeans and a bar of chocolate that she devours in one go. It's the first food she's aware of having in at least twenty-four hours, and as much as she hates returning to her old ways, it's freaking delicious.

In the morning, Eponine wanders further into the city. Once she's put some distance between herself and the supermarket, she ducks into an alley, pulls out the eyeshadow, and gets to work. She's gotten enough real bruises in her lifetime to create a nice spectrum of fake ones, an essential part of her latest scheme. Yes, it's probably wrong to pretend to be an abuse victim, but she needs an easy way into a shelter and that's the best she can think of. Shelters, in her experience, are staffed by middle-aged women who won't mind ridiculous charges on cell phones borrowed by victimized young girls with good puppy eyes. Or, at least, that's what she's hoping for.

Actually finding a shelter is simple enough - she locates a library first, goes straight for the community resource board, and is pleasantly surprised. From there, it's another hour of walking, but totally worth it. Considering this mess, she figures she's got every right to take advantage of the system, and so help her, she's going to.

The woman at the front desk is a little younger than might be ideal, but Eponine doesn't let this deter her. She gives a pretty standard story about a boyfriend who couldn't control himself - not even a total lie, considering she's dated her share of those types over the years - and asks if she can make a phone call. In return, she's handed a mobile phone, the fancy kind with internet access. Even better than she thought - this'll be easy now.

She asks for privacy and is shown to a small bathroom with a door that locks, yet another pleasant surprise. As soon as the lady vanishes, it doesn't take Eponine long to do some guilty web-searching and write the necessary phone number on her arm with more of the eyeshadow. She takes a deep breath, checks it twice to make sure it looks right, and dials. To her delight, it's picked up on the first ring. "Hey. It's me."


	8. Contact

Four days. Four fucking days since his girl went MIA and Enjolras has spent the majority of that time either on the phone, online, inhaling large quantities of questionable coffee (someone switched his supply to decaf midway through day two and he hasn't bothered to notice), or doing all three at once. The apartment has become damage control central, he has contacted every hospital on the eastern seaboard, and a revolving door of close friends have been in and out, keeping an eye on him under the guise of 'helping'. He knows what they're up to, of course, but he doesn't have the heart to stop them.

The fourth afternoon since he called the police is literally the first time he gets any quiet - as much as he loves his circle of friends and colleagues, things have been way too eventful for his liking. He paces back and forth across the main room of the apartment, contemplating what to do next and remembering little details about Eponine. The way her brown eyes always light up when she sees him, the dreadful second-hand dress she wore to Marius and Cosette's wedding and how satisfying it had been to get her out of it… dammit, it's like she's already gone. Not missing, like he insists that she is, but _gone_, permanently.

As the ghost of a tear falls from his eye, his phone starts ringing. He darts over to the counter and lunges for it - the call is from an unknown number, but given the amount of feelers he's put out, it's understandable. No sooner does he press a button than he hears the one voice he's waiting for, a little static-y but so clearly _hers_.

"Hey. It's me."

He doesn't even know what to say. Are there words for this? If there are, he can't remember them. "Hey," he replies, voice cracking with inexplicable emotion.

"Are you okay?" She sounds the same as always, peaceful and stable, and he can almost see the teasing look that's surely on her face. "Are you…"

"I'm fine. But what about you? What the hell _happened_?"

"I don't know," she says in an amused tone. "But I'm safe now, if that's what you're wondering. I'm in a battered women's shelter in Toledo - totally okay."

"Do I want to know?" Part of him doesn't, but it's a completely necessary question.

"I'm fine, I promise. Just… an old trick from when I was younger. There's nowhere safer than a building that won't allow anything with a dick through the front door."

He shudders to think how she might know that information but decides to go with it. "Can you send me the address?"

"No problem. But… wait, are you planning to come get me? Because you are so not allowed to rent a car after…"

"It's alright. I know people, remember? And some of them owe me."

"Great. Please come get me. It's been a few days and I miss you."

"Four," he corrects her. "And ninety-four hours since you last contacted me. It's a new record."

"And not one I'm going to break anytime soon." She pauses for a moment, takes a few slow breaths. "Look, I have to go. The front desk lady is going to want her phone back and I need to text you the address and… I'll be here when you come, okay? I love you."

"I love you too," he tries to say, but by the time the words are out of his mouth, the line is dead. So much for that one.

Thirty seconds later, Enjolras receives a text from the same number with an address. About thirty seconds after _that_, it's time for another phone call. "Hey, R, remember that favor you owe me? … Yes, the one that involves your precious Jezebel. It's time. … Ep's in Ohio. We need to go get her. And there is no way you're driving. I want to get my girlfriend back, not end up in an ER somewhere…"


	9. On The Road

It doesn't take Enjolras very long to decide that asking Grantaire to tag along on the adventure was the worst idea he's had since he broke up with the other man - and _that_, for the record, was only a bad idea in execution. Yes, it's nice that they're still on speaking terms three years later, but there is nothing worse than driving a finicky old sports car across unfamiliar territory late at night while accompanied by a slightly drunk passenger-seat driver who won't shut up. It may have been the easy option, but it damn well wasn't the best one.

It's not that things are awkward between them, per say, because Grantaire has absolutely no concept of awkwardness and would not allow such a thing to happen. It's more that he won't stop talking, and as the night goes on and heavy amounts of caffeine are added to the mix, his topics of conversation get progressively weirder. Enjolras never thought he'd long for the days of listening to his ex-boyfriend ramble for half an hour about his stupid borderline-psychotic cat, but that day has come and he's hating every second of it.

"Do you have an off switch?" he asks somewhere in middle-of-nowhere Ohio.

"Sorry man," Grantaire replies, actually quiet for the first time in approximately six hours. "It's easier to talk about random shit than think about what might've happened to her, y'know? I mean, I know she's fine _now_, but you're a fucking trainwreck without her around and I don't wanna see either of you go back to broken bird status."

Enjolras rolls his eyes. "I have never been a broken bird."

"Yeah, sure you haven't. All I'm saying is you probably would've become a political martyr by now if you didn't have her to keep you steady. And she probably would've gotten killed by an asshole boyfriend if she didn't have you to keep her safe."

"I'm scared for her. Whatever happened to her…"

"Will be dealt with after you actually get her back and have the best sex of your mutual lives," Grantaire interjects. "Now, as much as I love this touchy-feely shit, I would much rather listen to music."

The rest of the car ride, and a couple of hours in a church parking lot during which neither of them manages to get any sleep, is spent in utter silence. The end is so near, resolution at last… and yet perhaps the beginning of something more dangerous. For his part, Enjolras is pretty sure he's not going to let this go. Someone tried to take his girl from him, he just knows it, and he won't let them get away with it. There are answers out there somewhere… but first, breakfast in a diner and an attempt at cleaning himself off in the bathroom and then it's off to rescue her nice and proper. Everything else can wait.


	10. Fall Into Me

She's standing outside when they turn up, arms crossed over her chest in faux frustration, and her lips curve into the biggest smile of her life when a certain fire-red vehicle comes into view. By the time her boy reaches her - he's similarly weightless, though there's no one around to notice - she's on the verge of tears. She knew he'd come for her, yes, but the confirmation of that belief is the most beautiful thing she's never known. Eponine Thénardier does not believe in love in the proper sense, but if ever she were tempted to change her mind, now would be the time.

They collide with an unexpected force, arms wrapping around torsos and lips meeting in a blur of emotion. After a while, when breathing wins over affection, she actually does start crying and buries her face in his chest, tears soaking his t-shirt. Time stands still and there are no words worth saying. His fingers entangle themselves in her hair, trying to undo several days' worth of knots; hers trace patterns on a strip of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans, teasing what will certainly happen later. They are together once more and they are so, so whole.

"I missed you," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Take me home now."

"Only if you've gotten over your fear of R's driving," Enjolras replies, only half joking. Something about letting that dingbat drive eight hours across three states just doesn't seem like a good idea, but it's the only option they've got. "I missed you too, mouse."

It's pretty obvious that she's out of it, because she doesn't have the heart to fight back. Instead, she simply goes with it, taking his hand and collapsing into the back seat of the car. He stays next to her, cuddling as much as possible while still being restrained by seatbelts, but little happens. In fact, apart from a few offhand comments by their designated driver, the entire trip is spent in silence. It's oddly glorious.

When they finally get home again, it's a blur of torn clothing and loud noises and making up for lost time in the best way they know. So good, in fact, that neither of them registers the ringing phone in the background. There are more important things for now, ecstasy and sweet nothings and collisions and release. There's only them, there's only this.

Afterwards, lying exhausted on the unmade bed, he finally finds the right words. "I worried for you. I thought you might be dead or worse."

"But I'm fine," she insists. "I don't remember anyone hurting me. But then… I don't remember much of anything."

"That's what scares me. You lost two days, Ep. Anything could've happened to you."

"But I'm here now." She kisses him again, desperately, as if he's the only real thing in the world. "I don't want to know."

"But I do. I know you got lucky, but… why? Why would anyone try to hurt you in the first place?"

"I know a lot of scary people, or at least I used to. Could be anything."

"That's not enough for me."

"It never is, Enjy. Absolute certainty… you and your hangups…"

"Have I ever mentioned how much I _hate_ that nickname?"

"You love me, darling, and right now I'm not sure I care."


End file.
